Of Frisk and Formality
by Scribbler17
Summary: When couples are coworkers. Earth 2 Barry and Earth 2 Iris.


"Detective West," Barry salutes her as he approaches, dropping a folder onto her desk. "Here is the completed case file you requested earlier."

Iris dismisses his formality, mildly annoyed at how proper her husband tried to be around her at the precinct, rarely addressing her by her first name or even using her complete hyphenated last name. Her irritation subsides though when she stops to take him in. He's a warm, charming sight after the hectic events of the day which included a crazed meta-human car chase and a narrowly avoided bullet thanks to the half-wit klutz she called her partner.

He's also irresistibly long and lanky in his gray plaid suit. Even his hideous bowtie, no doubt one she didn't pick out, draws her to him: if she reaches out to grab it she can pull his mouth down to hers in a single swift move-

She clears her throat, maintaining a stern composure that would never indicate how much she wants to pounce on his skinny limbs.

"I need you upstairs, _CSI Allen_ ," she orders, hissing his name through gritted teeth. She would play along while she had to.

"Sure thing, Detective!" he pipes, clearly unaware of the reason behind her demanding demeanor. "Whatever you need."

"I'm holding you to that," she mumbles, taking her oblivious, naïve spouse by the elbow, and leading him from her office up the stairs.

Once securely inside his lab, she kicks the door closed. He barely has time to register what she's doing before she pushes him against the wall, insistently crashing her lips into his.

"One more time you call me _Detective West_ …" she warns sultrily in between kisses.

He lets out an indignant, muffled sputter. "I, unlike you, am being professional! I address my colleagues by their appropriate titles. And I do not get _frisky_ with them on the job, even if I'm married to them, no matter how…tempting it might be." He looks her up and down before straightening his now crooked bowtie with a "Hmph."

She twists his bowtie again to yank him down to her, not even slightly deterred by his cute outrage. If anything, it heightens her appetite: this time she slips her tongue into his mouth. He's hesitant at first before ultimately relaxing: she catches him smiling into their kiss, proud that she managed to convince him to give in.

They continue to kiss fervidly, wrapped in each other, until he pulls away, short with his breathing, his glasses askew, cheeks flushed, hair disheveled.

"Iris-" he starts, but she won't hear a word of it. Her hands fly to his waist, working at his belt buckle.

"Er-what are you doing?" he chuckles nervously.

"Barry," she coaxes, seizing the lapels of his jacket and thrusting him into a nearby chair. "I've had a really long day. Lawton and his lousy aim will be the death of me, literally. I was inches away from an injury."

"I'm so sorry, Honey," he sympathizes genuinely, reaching up to rub her shoulders, momentarily forgetting that she was moving to strip him of his pants. "Are you okay?"

"I will be after this," she asserts, taking advantage of his temporary distraction to unzip him.

"Iris!" he squeaks, eyes wide.

"What?" she giggles, perching herself on his lap. "You love when I do this."

"Yes, I- _really_ do," he admits bashfully, turning redder still. "But now? Here? We can do this at home, in the bedroom, privately…"

"But that's too far away," she coos against his neck. "And we're already right here."

"Well-well-did you know that in Ancient Egypt, public sex was punishable by castration?" Barry comments seriously.

She lifts her head to face him, eyebrows raised. In the heat of passion, her dork of a husband chose to spit out history fun facts.

He swallows, shrugging a shoulder, stammers, "But we aren't Egyptian, obviously, or even remotely ancient, and you do work in law enforcement, so I don't think you would ever let anyone cut my-"

She rams her mouth against his to shut him up.

She can't tell how long their make-out session persists, but eventually, their furious kisses turn slow and lazy. To her satisfaction, she feels him growing hard beneath her.

"Hmmm," she hums against his lips, smirking. "Changed your mind?"

He blushes anew, evidently flustered by his ungraceful lack of control. She slides off his lap leisurely, settling on her knees. Her fingers trace the line of his zipper before fondling the obvious bulge at his crotch.

She looks up into his face-waiting for him to refuse. He gulps, but bows his head.

Her deft hands pull him out gently. It's a thrilling vision to see Barry in his best suit, legs sprawled in all directions, stiff length on display. She bends her wrist to pass a few slow strokes over his clumsy erection. Once he swells further in her grip, she places a palm on either one of his thighs, leaning down to suck him.

Like she had claimed earlier, Barry did love when she did this, but the truth was, she loved it too, quite possibly more than he did. She thrived on pampering him, pleasing him, which was why she stood firm about wanting to do it now. Still, she wonders if she put her own selfishness ahead of his comfort.

Given how he squirms in his seat above her and how tightly he grips the handles of the chair, Iris decides there are worse matters than a little selfishness on her behalf.

She can think of few things that taste better than Barry, that feel better than the thick of him in her mouth. She presses her tongue flat against the underside of his shaft, at a vein to which he's particularly sensitive, she's learned. At the contact, his breath is audibly heated until a profound moan escapes his lips; it's a sound too bold for his reserved nature that she's never heard him utter under any other circumstance.

She can't help sneaking a glimpse at him, though she expects the image of an aroused Barry will tempt her dangerously. Sure enough, a fleeting ache conceives between her legs when she sees that he's nodding his head in a frenzy, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. He's in such a helpless daze that his long lashes flutter adorably. His mouth is twisted into a soundless _"Oh"._ She suppresses the urge to laugh at his bewildered face, apt to her shy, modest Bear. Instead she's compelled to close her eyes and drag her tongue across him again, determined to fulfill him.

He inhales sharply, and she senses the soft trembles that conquer his gangly legs. She's so feral for him that she tilts her head back, murmuring as he pulses into her mouth.

She gives him time to compose himself before pulling away from his now wet shaft, taking a moment to catch her breath herself. When she looks up at him, he's panting, blinking at the ceiling, nonplused, as though wondering if what just transpired was real or a dream.

Iris tucks and zips him away before climbing into his lap again. She studies his face, then carefully removes his lopsided glasses, wanting to gaze directly into his hazy green eyes before his lust dwindled and his pupils constricted to normal. At her touch, he seems to finally come to his senses.

"Feeling better?" he offers with a timid smile, sweet and more fitting on his baby-like features than the suggestive expression he sported before. It makes her heart swell: her reputation as a tough, headstrong woman dissolved when it came to loving the man in front of her.

"Very much so," she declares, smoothing his tousled hair, though her mouth already misses the contact. She loosens his bowtie to ease his respirations.

"As an aside," he notes, voice low, still breathing somewhat heavily. "Egyptian women were particularly well known for their sexual prowess."

She beams, senses her chest constrict with overwhelming affection for her husband. "Good for them."


End file.
